12-11-2011, 09:47 PM
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Character Name:
Cheveyo Katal
Character Birthdate:
March 12th, 2007
Gender:
Male
Species:
Canis lupus ortus
Is your character a Luperci?:
Yes
Other 'Souls Characters:
None
How you found 'Souls?:
RPG-D
Are you joining a pack?:
AW
If joining a pack, are you joining IC or OOC?:
OOC
Profile or three writing examples:
I'll give you both. Profile. See below for examples.
Cheveyo Katal
Character Birthdate:
March 12th, 2007
Gender:
Male
Species:
Canis lupus ortus
Is your character a Luperci?:
Yes
Other 'Souls Characters:
None
How you found 'Souls?:
RPG-D
Are you joining a pack?:
AW
If joining a pack, are you joining IC or OOC?:
OOC
Profile or three writing examples:
I'll give you both. Profile. See below for examples.
 |
WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It contains strong language, even though it uses *'s to block the words. Reader discretion is advised. |
Quote:Jessie was just on his way home from his father's house when he realized he'd missed a call. He had been careless and left his phone in the car while he ventured inside with an arm full of presents. The place was like a fortress with overly expensive furniture wrapped in duvet covers. It wasn't his style and frankly made him uncomfortable, not that the company helped any. His father had become a different man since his mom died and the little tart of a woman he now called his wife had barely more than two brain cells to rub together.
Of course, Jessie was polite to her and even to his father. He always held his tongue, at least when he could manage it. When you ship your kid off for most of his school years you can't really hold any sort of control over him, so he mostly viewed them as acquaintances of his step sister, Honey. Honey he could tolerate, perhaps because she was young and naive, desperately in need of protecting. Being a Conduit, he'd sort of always had a knack for being the knight on the white horse. Honey was the only reason he'd stopped by this Christmas eve. He had flat out refused since he'd returned from London, but she'd begged and given him her sweet brown, puppy dog eyes that he just couldn't resist. So he'd gone, watched them light up the tree, dropped off his presents, given her a big bear hug and got the hell out of there.
His step mother had made this awful eggnog that tasted like something destined for a trough, which hadn't helped matters much. He was still trying to get the taste off of his tongue as he listened to Emme's message. He realized he was calling her Emme in his head now instead of the formal Emmeline which she'd introduced herself as when they first met. He smiled at that, liking the comfortable familiarity they'd slipped into. Her voice came on and he caught a waver in it that could have been nerves or just bottled energy, but just ended up coming out adorable to his ears. He smiled, heard the words Turtle Park, and directed the driver to head north. They quickly changed lanes, moving closer to Central Park. He couldn't think of a better thing to turn this night around.
He'd been working a lot lately, and Emme had school so they hadn't seen much of each other. His cab got stopped at a red light and his heart began to pound fast, impatience coursing through him. He realized that he missed her, which was odd. He saw tons of girls, talked to them, hung out with them... but he was more of a lone wolf. He never 'missed' anyone. A psychologist would tell him it was a result of being in London and having to be strong, not to miss his family when his father sent him away... but Jessie would never acknowledge such a weakness in himself, at least if he could help it. The burning in his chest didn't seem to ease as the driver turned down the street that bordered Central Park. The sight was breath taking and he couldn't help but take in a deep breath of the cold, bitter air as he stepped out, tossing the cabbie his fare.
He wasn't one of those people who hated the cold. He embraced it, as if the bite on his skin reminded him, if only for a moment that he was alive. It was the most exhilarating thing in the world. He strode forward, forcing himself to keep a steady gate, when his heart was urging him to move faster, to find the one face in the crowd he wanted to see most desperately. He scanned the shoppers and the families, all out and enjoying the first snow of the season. It never snowed in NYC, at least not so gloriously as this. It slushed in NYC, this was a real treat because it fell in heavy flakes, coating everything in sight. He grew frustrated, but just as he was getting out his cell to call her so they could somehow connect he spotted her. It had been that white jacket. She almost blended in to the surroundings. He smiled and bent down to the snow covered grass. It wasn't very deep, but just enough to gather a good hunk of snow in his palm.
Armed and ready he moved stealthily forward on the balls of his feet, and when he got within ten feet he let loose his weapon, straight into the back of her head. It splattered against her knit cap, raining snow down all around her and he couldn't help but let out a deep, kindhearted laugh.
"Miss me?!" He called, jogging up to where she stood.
Quote:Jessie felt the cold snow smack into his shoulder and gave her a look of feigned shock as if to say, 'Did little miss perfect really dare to throw a snowball in my direction!?' but then he smiled lightly, a mischievious grin painting his features. He lurched himself forward like a linebacker and faked right before swooping in and grabbing her waist, picking her up from the ground with one hand and poking/tickling her side with the other.
"So you want to play the game, eh?" He joked, enjoying the chiming sounds of her laughter. He loved making her laugh like that, the way her eyes crinkled at the edges when she was most happy and her cheeks grew pink. He noticed that he now held her against him as she laughed and tried to wriggle free. He tugged on her hat playfully. "So you're not sure you missed me?" He asked mockingly, putting on his best baby faced pout. It didn't work for him and probably just made him look ridiculous. He hugged her to his chest, and then placed her back onto the ground. "Well then." He pursed his lips and studied the ground. "I do believe I'm upset with you." He added, knowing she knew he was merely joking. He could never really be mad at Emme. He was wrapped around that tiny little finger of hers, although there was no way in hell he'd admit that.
He stepped back and led her to the cement slab that doubled as a seat and boarder to the square. Always the gentleman he took a gloved hand and brushed the snow off before allowing her to sit beside him.
"So, Ms. Hambleton, what brings you... all alone, to the park on Christmas Eve. Don't you have some really exciting party to go to or a grandmother to please by taking lots of family photos?" They had yet to talk much about their families lives, at least anywhere past the surface level explanations. He couldn't help feel a little angry that her father would leave her to spend Christmas Eve in a cold park by herself, and he was glad she'd decided to call.
Then again, he thought back to his conversation with Honey earlier this week. She'd come by his place late after a party and crawled into his sofa chair that sat next to his bed. It was 2 am, so he rolled over and said some not so pleasant things about how sleep helped man survive the cold winter months, but she just ignored him and kept talking until she'd gotten him to a state of consciousness. He learned that as soon as she'd walked in and seen he had ZERO Christmas decorations up, she'd decided he was a heartless scrooge. He'd just told her he wasn't some girl who liked interior decorating and to get her butt back to the couch for some shut eye. Since then she'd bugged him about getting, what she liked to call 'festive', but he just hadn't found the time nor the desire to accomplish it.
So in an odd way perhaps the two of them fit. He hadn't done anything special for Christmas, and now here she was, flying solo.
Quote:If there's anything all Outlanders know how to do, and do well its fight. When you live around death and mayhem 24/7, sleep with one eye open, and see zombies go 'nom-nom' on your buddies, you tend to develop what we like to call 'stress'. We're not talking, 'you spilled some coffee on your favorite sports jacket stress', we're talking 'get away from me or I'll be the last person you ever see' stress.
Now you can be sure that the psychologists -- if there were actually any of those still around these days -- would have liked to give a big lecture on how everyone is suffering from a gigantic batch of PTSD. To that, Gabe would have gladly socked them in the nose, and told them to sit down & shut the f*** up. He's nice and civilized like that. That’s just the thing. When the apocalypse hits you can pretty much throw decent behavior out the goddamn window.
Facts are, it doesn't matter why or how. All that PTSD ******** is gone. You can toss the DSM-IV to the zombies because your ritzy categories are ancient history. There is only fact; what is and what is not. These times aren't for the suits, the business men; it's for the survivors. It shows you who the best really is. There's no equalization, no affirmative action. There is only competition, only the dog eat dog world of what a man can do, and what he cannot. Tonight is the night that all men -- and any women insane enough to enter the ring, who were willing, come face to face with these facts. They realize just what they have become in this world...
At least that's Gabe sick justification for letting grown men act like wolves and tear each other to shreds. That and he makes a hefty profit from all this blood and childishness. Really, their warped little society should thank him. He's a modern day therapist, and damn good at it. Everyone needs an outlet. He's just the man that supplies.
He stretched his legs, sitting beside the campfire he had made as he waited for his guests to arrive. He'd been on the outskirts of New Darwin for three days now at his encampment nestled conveniently in the woods just a few miles off the beaten path. He liked it that way; alone, quiet, away from the chaos of the city and perfect for such shady dealings as were going down tonight. Gabe isn't what you'd call social and that just helped him in his self-appointed job as this little club’s ring leader. He is an unknown element, something to be feared, a crazy bloke who shows up outside of town and offers them the opportunity for violence.
He had his contacts and they knew he was here. That was enough. He'd made sure of it. There would be a good sized group tonight, if the last few meets were any indication. Last time he'd made the trip to New Darwin there had been at least ten of them, and tonight he expected a good fifteen or so.
As the minutes passed, they slowly trickled in. London, fresh back from a trip near the city was first. He had brought a few of the regulars with him. They were straggling behind, letting him be the first to approach. London was the one Gabe trusted and approaching alone was always a gable. Others followed suit. Besides those first few he didn't see many faces he recognized, but that wasn't unusual. People die often. He was used to it. He crossed his arms and stood by the fire, staring into the abyss of flame. London rallied the troops, grunting for them to sit down or shut up before coming to stand beside him.
Gabe went to his tent and picked up the supplies they'd gotten from the city earlier, the essentials; booze and cigarettes. He lit up a cig, not offering anything to anyone and looked up into the crowd, waiting until he had everyone's attention. They were all waiting for the action, some smiling and others laughing along with their neighbor. He smiled, something sick and menacing. He hadn't held 'the club' in a while because he hadn't been back to New Darwin in a good many months, but it was like riding a bike. He plunged ahead, his voice loud and confident despite his social inadequacies. When it came to crude conversation and violence it turns out he can articulate quite well. Just don't invite him to your mother’s house for tea.
"G'evening boys!" He boomed. "Most of you are probably nothing more than young little cat, too young to remember the classic movies, so for you... I will explain the rules..." He cracked his knuckles absentmindedly and began to walk around the fire.
"First rule of fight club is... YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB. Talk about these little 'fireside chats', gentlemen and I will personally cut out your throat." He looked up to emphasize his point. Sure he wasn't quoting the movie... exactly. But he liked things violent.
"If tonight is your first night you will fight, period. Problem with that? You can get out right now and never come back. Maybe a bloody infected will even pick you off on your way back to town." He paused, daring anyone to move. "IF you survive your first night, consider yourself one of us. Betray one of us, go to some ******** authority, and we'll take it as personally disrespectful... and a waste of your time. Everyone knows they don't give a s***, and every man is for himself these days..." He looked over to London. "Either way, while it might not really do you much good, it will certainly not come without consequences because well... we don't like disrespect... do we London?"
Although normally content remaining silent during Gabe's speeches, he replied, "Seriously. I'd enjoy not having to extract Gabe's exceptionally large shoe out of your whooped ass. Not to mention he gets cranky when he loses shoes." Gabe smirked and continued. He didn’t smile in the presence of company; bad for business. And London was right, he didn’t like losing shoes. Well fitted, sturdy leather ones were damn near impossible to find. It wasn’t like they could just stroll up to their nearest K-mart and pick out a brand new pair.
"We all know that there is NO authority. We are the authority, gentleman. And there are only two limits ... what a man can do... and what a man can't do... Win or Lose. It's on you, just like it is every god damn day out there with those blasted infected... although I doubt any of your city dwellers would know anything about that!" He took off his leather jacket, and discarded it a few feet from the fire. His lanky back muscles rippled, tight from days on the run. He looked up into the crowd and pointed to a clean area of dirt a good ten feet away from the fire. Oil lamps flickered, hanging around the makeshift pit. A scar marred his flesh to the right of his left eye, which was probably intimidating in and of itself to the more inexperienced members of this motley crew.
"Alas, I digress... If you lack the common sense to know the other obvious rules, let me break it down for you. Fights are one on one. No shoes. If someone says "stop" or goes limp, taps out the fight is over. Fights will go on as long as they have to... And of course, above all, betting is highly encouraged." The room stirred as people fingered their packs, anxious for the first round of gambling to take place. This wasn't just a fight, it was an opportunity to score some serious items; his own personal little black market. Gabe himself even had some rather tasty trinkets on deck.
"Now... who will start us off?" He scanned the crowd, walking closely past them all like a drill sergeant studying his maggots. He took a long drag of his cig, sizing up his new recruits. "How about ... you." He said, hand landing on a man in the center of the bunch and shoving him gruffly into the center of their personal arena. "Do we have any challengers!?"
Quote:Jessie rolled the car to the pebbled pathway at the side of the highway. He'd thought his Firebird invincible, divine even and the mere idea of her breaking down baffled him. His mouth gaped, stupefied. Shaking his head, he muttered a curse and hit the steering wheel half-heartedly.
"Hold tight." He replied warily, dodging her questions for the time being as he opened the door and pulled his muscular frame from the little sports car. His friend Nate would have told him something along the lines of, "I told you so D'Vorn, you shouldn't have bought that cracker jack toy in the first place." with no remorse and that realization forced a smile to his face that was entirely out of place given their predicament.
He popped the hood, masking his inappropriate grin and got to work. His eyes searched frantically as smoke billowed out to meet him, stinging his eyes. The weather was like a cold bucket of ice caressing his skin, so he clutched his jacket closer to his torso. the blizzard was at it's height. Even if the car hadn't decided to revolt, they would have needed to pull over because visibility was next to none, and the roads slick with black ice. 'Happy bloody valentines, D'Vorn...', He mumbled to himself, his boots crunching through the snow. He's wanted this to go perfectly, and now it was rubbish, flushed. He sighed deeply and slammed the hood back into place. After a bit of analysis he rejoined Emmeline in the car, movements slow and labored like a child banished to the corner. He'd effectively avoided her question about calling his parents, disguising his intentions with a dire need to check beneath the hood, but now it was time for the inevitable. He hoped she hadn't noticed his allusive trick, not that it mattered.
"Looks like my coolant warning light was busted and the engine's all overheated now. Stupid thing. We'll be lucky if the head gasket didn't melt right down into a mangled mess." He dragged a hand over his face, haggard, frustration boiling beneath the surface. His precious plans were melting away with that engine. "We'll have to wait for the engine to cool down a bit and then try to get it to the closest exit. That or call for a tow. But out here who knows how long that could take... and they'd definitely charge us an arm and a leg in this snow storm." It wasn't that he didn't have the funds, but he was old school and frugal with the money he earned, in an odd way that NYC folk have long forgotten.
He pulled a blanket from the back seat and draped it over Emmeline, his plans for improvisation beginning to take hold. He's hidden a small bouquet of pink roses beneath the blanket behind the drivers side seat and reached his arm around to grab them next. They were a bit crumpled, but still settled in their water reservoir tips. The sentiment at least, was fully intact and in need of no repair.
"Happy Valentine's Day." He chimed, brushing her nose with the petals gently before placing them on her lap. "I'm sorry about all of this. I had it all worked out, but I guess I'm just going to have to wing it from here on out. I heard some girls find that kind of improvisation charming?" He chuckled. "Let's hope you're one of them." He smiled abashedly and shrugged... but slowly sobered from his romantic mood. Time to drop the bomb.
"But before you get to excited about enjoying my unscheduled, uncoordinated torture, I have a confession..." Here goes. Buckle your seat belt. "I ummm... well I didn't exactly invite mum and dad along. I errr... well, the get away was... just for us." He looked at his hands, slowly peaking up from behind his lashes to look at her like a puppy being scolded. On anyone else the ploy might have come off flawlessly, but on a muscular, twenty-three year old with more scars than he could count... it was just hilarious beyond reason. The tilt of his head, the feigned innocence. Who did he think he was fooling?
He saw what he gaged as a look of shock, which he'd much expected, spread across her face and smiled wryly, regaining his confidence. At least she was reacting as predicted. This he could deal with. She wasn't hoping out of the car and running for the hills to escape him... not that that was an option... but he'd take it. It was a good sign.
"Hey not! I didn't lie... technically... I can't help that you assumed they were coming. And well... I doubted Mr. Hambleton would have given his princess any time alone with a miscreant like me. Can't blame a man for improvising. That does seem to be the theme for this little adventure of ours." He gave her a wink, a dangerous move is she decided to be angry, and smiled, hoping it would soften her to mush as it had done to many a woman before her.
He pictured his genius plan, now long lost. She wouldn't have been mad at him had she seen that. The rooms adorned with flowers, a few flickering candles, a veranda attached, and an outdoor jacuzzi tub with floating fake rose petals. He'd even ordered her a day at the spa! Now, what woman would refuse that? None that he'd met. He would have had her eating out of the palm of his hand.... His mind hit a brick wall. No use dwelling on that.
He flipped open his cell phone and rang Nate, his accomplice for the evening.
"D'Vorn, calling for Jacobs." He told the ski resort's desk attendant where Nate worked. He paused waiting for his old friend to pick up the line. Emmeline could hear a male voice when he came on, speaking hurriedly. Nate knew he was driving up the to mountains and there was a weather advisory warning on all the news stations. Jes waited for him to finished before replying.
"Yea, f***ing blizzard. I'm going to have to call off the plans. Thanks though man, I owe you one." Nate muttered a few sympathies in return. "I don't know what we'll do, probably take the car to the nearest motel, try to find a shop that's open in the morning, if possible." He sighed and they continued on for a few seconds longer, saying goodbye and good luck. Jessie promised to text him when he was safe behind closed doors. Wood, not metal. All in all the call wasn't more than two minutes. Men do not have long phone conversations. Not in the manual on D'Vorn living.
Nate and Jes had become ski buddies on his last few trips to his families second home or as he called it, 'the lodge', since it was right near the local ski resort where Jes spent most of his time during the sparse visits he made to the states. It was an obvious choice of title. Nate and Jes had kept in touch after he was inevitably shipped back to England and he had been his only friend in the states when he moved here.
Luckily Nate hadn't yet started in on their plans of setting up the house for their arrival and he'd been spared a lot of effort. Yet, the fact that he'd been willing to do Jes that favor was reason enough for thanks. Even so, his heart sank as his plans faded and he hung up his cell.